


You Won't Be Alone

by thugcorpseinc



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AI, Artificial Intelligence, Cat Therapy, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Iron Man Suit Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions Of Infidelity, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Phone Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thugcorpseinc/pseuds/thugcorpseinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Steve,” Natasha whispered. Her voice was tentative and wavered in the darkness of the room. He didn’t respond, but that didn’t stop her from crossing over and sitting on the edge of the bed. As she did she could smell him, the musk of unwashed male; unpleasant but she had experienced far worse. They sat in silence for a long time, and after a while she rested a hand on his shoulder, stroking over the sheet that covered him.</p><p>“Why now?” she asked. He didn't respond for a long time.</p><p>“Because it seemed like he’d be coming back those first few weeks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Won't Be Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sad!fic I wrote after watching Her and Transcendence, which are the obvious inspirations here. The timeline is a little fucked, but this was supposed to just be a series of drabbles and it accidentally turned into this. 
> 
> I added the warning for dubious consent for people who might be sensitive but I promise there is no actual non-con involved in this.

“Steve,” Natasha whispered. Her voice was tentative and wavered in the darkness of the room. He didn’t respond, but that didn’t stop her from crossing over and sitting on the edge of the bed. As she did she could smell him, the musk of unwashed male; unpleasant but she had experienced far worse. They sat in silence for a long time, and after a while she rested a hand on his shoulder, stroking over the sheet that covered him.

“Why now?” she asked. He didn't respond for a long time.

“Because it seemed like he’d be coming back those first few weeks,” Steve replied tonelessly. “Like he’d been on one of his business trips.” She was quiet.

“It felt like that with Clint too. Like he was on a mission that ran too long,” Natasha finally commented, her already raspy voice even lower and hoarser. Steve turned onto his back and his scent hit her a little harder, but she didn’t react to it visibly.

“How did you ever get over it?” he finally asked.

“I didn’t,” she said, “I bottled it up and put it away. When it gets too full, I let it out. I also shower every day.” Steve laughed. Then he cried.

\---

“It’s good to see you out of bed,” Bruce said, looking at Steve from where he stood at the stove. Bruce's hair had long since gone entirely grey and as Steve looked at him, he found himself suddenly aware of how old the man appeared.

“Yea...Natasha convinced me,” Steve said, picking at his napkin.

“She’s good at that," Bruce agreed. He turned back to the omelet he was cooking and carefully folded it in half. "We all miss him, Steve. He was my best friend. He wouldn't want this from you."

"No...no he wouldn't. He'd get on my ass about it," Steve sighed. He was surprised as the omelet was put in front of him.

"Eat. He'd get on you about that too," Bruce said as he turned to pour another into the pan.

"He always was a hypocrite about that," Steve muttered as he cut his fork into the soft, vegetable stuffed wrap. It tasted amazing; he hadn't realized it had been so long since he'd last eaten and cleared his plate before Bruce had finished making the second omelet.

\---

Jane Foster had suggested Steve write. He had never been very good at it, so his writing was more like a list. He wrote events, like their first date, the first time they kissed, and the first time they made love. But he also remembered their first fight, the first time he'd been cheated on, and the first time he hit him. He wrote his favorite things, like the outfit he thought made him so suave, the restaurant they went to every other week, the movie they watched every year on their anniversary, and the way he looked in the afternoon after they spent the night before having sex until the sun came up. He wrote what he'd liked best about him, his hands that were so talented even after arthritis began to take its toll, his intelligence, even when he began to get forgetful, and his smile, even when it became more sad than happy.

Steve spent a lot of time alone, but after a while it didn't feel so empty anymore. He felt like every memory he put down in his tablet was a weight leaving his shoulders.

They all had retired from the Avengers when young new heroes rose to take their place and Steve felt content with his decision. He could have stayed on as their leader, but without his team by his side it didn't feel right.

They moved on. Bruce remained at the Tower because he had made a promise to head R&D with Jane. Natasha kissed Steve gently on the cheek and said she had her own ghosts to put to rest. Steve took his few belongings and went to the house in Malibu.

Everything there was him. It even smelled like him. Steve cried for hours the first night he spent alone in their massive bed. He cried when he showered and used the soaps that brought back memories of their bodies together under the hot stream. It was hard not to let the memories overwhelm him.

Steve got through it though. He got a cat at Bruce's suggestion and was shocked how much it helped. She was an older Siamese from a local rescue with big sapphire eyes, dark chocolate points and a name to match what she had become to him, Hope. She always knew when he was feeling down and would sit in his lap and purr until it went away. When he would get lost in a memory she would meow at him- so loud and distinct that he laughed almost every time. She meowed a lot though, not just when he got glassy eyed, Bruce said it was normal for a Siamese. She filled the quiet places in Steve's life with her voice, and he was grateful to her.

\---

It took a long time for Steve to build the courage to walk down the stairs and punch in his code. The door opened and Hope went in ahead of him, making the decision for him because there were a lot of places for a cat to get lost in the lab and he couldn't let her wander around down there alone. It looked as it always did, unfinished projects all over the tables, the air filtration making it so dust never settled. For all the place appeared, the owner could have simply walked out a few minutes ago.

Steve surprised himself because he didn't cry. He smiled at familiar things, poked around the quiet robots and ran his hands along the sleek, dormant cars. He found the cat on the desk, tail neatly curled around her brown feet, looking at him expectantly. Steve sat and the chair creaked, then he touched the screen.

The whole lab powered up, the holographic keyboard coming to life under the cat's rump, floating digital screens appearing. Then a voice.

"Hey, Spangles, what took you so long?"

Steve's heart leapt and he looked around, his excitement ebbing into melancholy. The cat meowed sharply.

"I'm allergic, you know."

"Tony?" Steve said, his voice hoarse.

"Well this is my lab."

"I don't...understand," he was starting to get choked up because the sound of his late husband's voice hurt so much.

"I programmed myself into my servers, upgraded JARVIS with me."

"How? It...it was sudden, it was only a week after the diagnosis. You didn't have time to..." The quiet that followed made unexpected rage fill Steve's chest. He scowled at the screen that demurely displayed the desktop. "How long?"

"About four months. It was too late even then. Even if I'd told you or the doctors, there was nothing they could have done," Tony said. "Don't be mad, baby, please. I've been waiting a long time for you to come down here."

"I can't...I can't do this," Steve said. He stood and picked Hope up from the desk, ignoring Tony's voice that called him back.

\---

“Steve,” the voice roused him from his sleep and he turned onto his back, away from the ball of warm, comforting fur that had been curled under his arm. “Steve, can we talk?” He looked up at the dark ceiling and was struck like a blow to the sternum when he realized that there was no blue reactor light casting shadows around the room. His chest tightened and he brought a hand up,  wheezing in a way he hadn't since before the serum. He couldn't breathe.

Steve sat up and put his feet on the floor, making the cat yowl at him in protest. To soothe her he petted her side gently. Or maybe it soothed him. She stood and rubbed along his back, making air come easier.

"You alright?" Tony was asking. No, it wasn't Tony, it was a computer and Steve shuddered.

"Stop it, shut down, I don't want this," Steve snapped. He needed to get out of there. The lights rose as he stood, allowing his eyes to adjust slowly.

"What about what I want?" Tony's voice snapped.

"Computers don't want anything," Steve retorted, grabbing pants and jerking them on.

“Goddamnit, Steve, it’s me,” the voice followed Steve as he was stuffing his feet into a pair of sneakers and scrambling for his keys. “Steve wait! Please don’t go, please-” The door slammed shut behind him and Steve jogged to his car, sitting in the driver’s seat in silence, trying to remember how to breathe in and then out.

\---

Steve stayed at a hotel the next night. He couldn’t bring himself to go back there to that place that was haunted by not only his memories but that voice. Only his concern for Hope made him return. He couldn’t leave her there, even with the timed feeder and recycling water dish. He needed her. And maybe he was sick, maybe he was stupid, but maybe he should talk to the computer at least. It said it replaced JARVIS, Steve had been so utterly fucked up that he hadn’t noticed the other AI’s absence from his everyday life. Maybe he had associated the computer with Tony and without Tony there was no JARVIS.

The house was silent when Steve walked in and took his shoes off by the door. Well it was until Hope, seated on the piano, yowled angrily. She didn't stop meowing at him as he walked through the place to the kitchen, making sure she gave him a piece of her mind. She was only pacified by her favorite treats.

There was a bang that made him start, his head snapping towards the stairs down to the lab. The cat didn't react to it though; a year ago he wouldn't have either. Instead he stood and slowly headed for the steps, taking them as if the next one would bite him if he wasn't exceedingly gentle.

Already through the glass wall Steve could see people moving around in the lab and alarm rose in his chest before he realized they weren’t people at all. They were the Iron Man suits. Three of them steadily working at different projects. They didn’t stop when Steve punched his code and walked in.

“Done being a baby?” one of the suits asked. It was one of the older models, but it was holding a soldering iron in one hand and a delicate looking square of electronics in the other, the eyes lit up, the reactor that powered it bright as always. It was almost like Tony was there- he used to wear the suit sometimes when he was working on particularly dangerous projects, or sometimes for no discernible reason at all. The words that the suit had said didn’t sink in immediately but when they did, Steve scowled. “Yea, here’s the face, let me have it, big boy,” the suit continued, mocking Steve. Mocking him. Just like Tony used to when Steve got angry for a reason that Tony demeaned menial.

“A baby? You think I’m being a baby? My husband is dead,” Steve snapped. The suit set the electronics down and Steve was so focused on this one, the one he had subconsciously labelled the target, that he didn’t notice the other two were still hard at work. The lab was almost always a flurry of movement and noise.

“Yea, he is. But he died eight months ago and I’m here-”

“You? Who are you? A computer program! A farse! A charade that will never be him!” Steve was yelling before he could help it. Hope bolted up the stairs. “Twenty years. We were married twenty years. It takes more than a half a year and a laptop with a...a recording to make things okay.”

“I’m not a recording,” the suit said, his tone sound as if he was speaking through his teeth. The suit stood up and moved around the table, standing before Steve and holding his arms out, the familiar hum of the joints making Steve feel sick. “It’s me. Don’t you believe I could do it? I’m goddamn Tony Stark, I can do fucking anything. If I wanted to upload my mind into a computer so you wouldn’t have to be alone, I did it. I did it for you. I spent four months, four months that I was DYING, doing this for you, Steve. Then I had to wait eight months for you to activate me!”

Steve reached up when something tickled his cheek and he realized that he was crying again. He couldn’t do this. “Why did you wait?” he finally said after a long moment he spent trying to even out his breathing. Dying. Tony had known he was dying for four months and he’d done this instead of try to get help. Steve wasn’t sure if he could believe that the diagnosis would have been fatal if it was caught earlier. Steve felt like he might vomit at the thought that Tony had been suffering for so long, that he had been severely ill for four months before his body had started shutting down completely. And Steve hadn’t noticed.

“I knew I’d develop too quickly,” the suit was saying, “My intelligence had a limit to how much my brain could physically store. Now, here, on my servers, there is none. I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Tony,” Steve whispered. He reached up and his hand hovered over the faceplate, shaking as he pressed the release. It slid back to reveal an empty helmet. “I’m still alone.”

\---

Steve hunched when he drew, he didn’t mean to, but it was a habit of bad posture when he’d been small that he’d never bothered trying to break. He sat at his desk, it was a massive architects desk- Tony had designed it for him years ago, just the right height, just the right amount of space that he could lean all over it and get graphite on his arms instead of just the side of his hand. Hope sat on top of the nearest bookcase, like a sphinx, purring loudly, her eyes closed.

“Hey, looking pretty tense over there, Dorito,” Tony said from the Iron Man that had been sitting in one corner of the room building a...something. It was one of the newest models, one that he’d built only a month ago, it had the most intricately designed hands that Steve had ever seen. If they had flesh, they would move exactly like a human hand. The fingers had small tools in them, capable of extremely delicate work- far more capable than Tony’s real hands had ever been, according to Tony now.

“Huh?” Steve said as he looked up from his work. It was a drawing of Tony of course. He had photos of the man for reference and because he liked to look at him- close his eyes and imagine that face inside the mask whenever the suits talked to him.

“You look tense. Do you want a massage?” Tony asked again. The suit set down what it was working on without hesitation and stood. Steve hated to admit it, but Tony was extremely attentive now- probably because he was still downstairs in the lab working on a dozen different physical projects, running hundreds of simulations, writing algorithms, and a thousand other things that Steve didn’t understand all at the same time. Being able to control as many bodies as he wanted and a nearly limitless expanse of attention had some serious perks for a mind as busy as Tony’s had been.

Now Steve could talk to Tony whenever he wanted, he never had to wait for the man to finish what he was working on or go days without seeing him emerge from the lab. There was almost always one of the suits in the room with Steve when he was home. They both had quickly discovered they liked that far better than Tony speaking through the intercom like JARVIS- it was less disturbing to Steve and made Tony seem less ethereal. When he was out he could call Tony up on the phone. He liked that the best because it felt the most real to him.

They talked on the phone a lot before Tony passed away. Tony’s busy philanthropy schedule, both of them being needed in different places, and travelling so much made it so they’d sometimes gone months without seeing each other outside of the occasional Skype call.

It hurt a little that Tony had to die for their relationship to reach the level of companionship that Steve had always wanted. If Tony hadn’t died, Steve wouldn’t have quit the Avengers and SHIELD and moved, therefore taking away all his personal distractions. He wished they could really be together for this...retirement. He’d wanted Tony to retire, but Tony had only been in his 60s when he’d died. Plus who was anyone kidding- Tony was a workaholic, he’d never stop working even if he did formally retire.

Now, Tony even had the time to resume his place as CEO. He hadn’t yet, not formally or publically, but he’d been talking to Pepper and she’d agreed she was more than ready to retire and trusted Tony after the initial shock of his return from death. She’d taken it as hard as everyone else had. They were trying to figure out the best way to tell the world that Tony Stark had made himself immortal by programming his brain into a computer. Considering the technological advances Tony himself had headed, it really couldn’t be all that surprising to people. Operating Systems were nearly as complex as JARVIS these days, though far more regulated and not nearly as interesting (according to Tony.) Besides, Steve couldn’t really think of anyone more suited to run the company than Tony; especially since they’d decided not to adopt a child and there was something off putting about someone other than a Stark running Stark Industries.

The metal hands were firm but not too hard as they squeezed Steve’s tense shoulders. It felt so good he immediately groaned and the feeling went out in his fingers, making him drop his pencil. It rolled down the desk and onto the floor, no doubt breaking the graphite inside, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“When’s the last time someone touched you?” Tony asked, but he might as well have been talking to a bowl of pudding because Steve couldn’t even think past how amazing it felt to have the metal fingers digging into his tense, knotted muscles.

“Supermarket, a lady put her hand on my shoulder because I backed up into her,” Steve finally said.

“I meant for real, numbnut,” Tony said flatly. Steve let out a pathetic laugh because Tony had made it to his lower back and he was hurting everywhere. He probably hadn’t relaxed in months.

“I dont know. Not since I last saw Natasha I guess,” Steve admitted.

“Want a handjob?” Tony asked, not stopping his massage even when Steve jerked slightly.

“What?” he sputtered.

“Want me to jerk you off? I mean it’s not like we haven’t fooled around in the suit before-”

“Once! I only let you do that one time!” Steve protested.

“Three times. And you didn’t hate it or you wouldn’t have bust,” Tony pointed out. Steve sat up and pushed the suit away, because, God, that was vulgar and he was so embarrassed. Those had mitigating circumstances, okay, Steve did not have a fetish for the Iron Man suits like tabloids said. And the mask had been up for two of them, they’d been able to kiss at least.

“That’s enough,” he grumbled as he stood and leaned over for his pencil.

“Come on, sweetheart, I haven’t even mentioned sex, we’ve been back together for almost three months now,” Tony was protesting, snatching the pencil and setting it aside. Steve was flushed as he looked at the suit, now having nothing to distract himself with and just standing in the middle of his drawing studio at 2 am discussing handjobs with the Iron Man.

“Why would you mention sex?” Steve asked. He’d gotten over his general embarrassment of sex, mostly, but it was always very private for him and not something he’d ever liked having in depth discussions about, not like Tony did. Tony wanted to sit around and talk about all sorts of intimate details and plan their next tumble even though Steve was more of a spontaneous, “if it happens it happens” sort of man. Even after being married so long.

“Well, I feel things,” Tony said with a metallic shrug. “I feel emotions. Pain. Pleasure. It’s all there. The physical part is only a small portion of it. If anything, I bet it would feel better now- now that I can really feel it. Won’t be distracted or thinking about other stuff.”

“Jesus, Tony, are you serious right now?” Steve asked, shuffling away from the suit like it was going to try to jump him. He tried not to feel sad over the fact that not even their sex had ever turned Tony’s full attention on Steve.

“Yea I’m serious, are you? You won’t even try?” Tony asked, sounding distinctly hurt but like he was trying to hide it. Steve hated that tone and immediately put a hand on the suit’s shoulder.

“Tony,” Steve said, placing his other on the crook of the suit’s neck, looking into the glowing eyes even though he knew Tony’s face wasn’t looking back. “I love you. A lot. But this...you’re dead-”

“I’m not fucking dead!” Tony snapped, shoving Steve’s hands off and striding past him. “Fuck you, Steve.” Hope gave a yowl of protest at their raised voices and stood up, arching her back and jumping down onto Steve’s drawing desk, then the floor, hurrying out the open door before the suit because she never liked when they bickered.

“Tony, stop it, wait,” Steve said, pursuing, following the suit down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t try to walk off in a huff, I know you never actually leave the house,” he pointed out before the suit could blast off into the night like Tony used to after their big fights.

“I want to have sex, Steve,” Tony said, stopping the suit and turning abruptly. Steve bumped into it and stumbled back, face red as he opened his mouth and closed it a few times.

“W-with the suit?” he asked dumbly.

“Well, it doesn’t, no, it doesn’t have to be with the suit,” Tony said back, a little nervously now, maybe because Steve had stopped saying no. “We could do it on the phone. I know you liked that.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, flushed and anxious now, but he did like phone sex, even if he was bad at it himself. Tony was really good at it. If anyone could talk so dirty it made Steve cum, it was Tony Stark.

“I, uh, yea, we could try that. I mean, now?”

“Not right now. Go shower and eat something, we’ll talk about it later, alright?” Tony said. The suit touched Steve’s cheek gently, cold and unyielding, then continued down the hall.

\---

“It feels…” Steve said quietly into the receiver of his sleek StarkPhone. He lay on his side of the bed, naked because the high count sheets felt so good against his skin and he’d stopped wearing clothes to bed a long time ago. Hope was at the foot of the bed, which he thought might make him uncomfortable, her being there, but she was a cat, she didn’t care what he was doing so long as he was nearby. “Like maybe this is wrong.”

“We used to all the time, you liked it then,” Tony replied, his voice low.

“No, not...that. I mean...doing this. Without you.”

“I’m here, Steve, please. I’m here. I’m real,” he was saying, his voice shaking slightly. Steve’s chest tensed up and his throat tightened. “Every time you say it...it hurts so badly. It fucking hurts, Steve. Because it makes me doubt this. It makes me afraid that what I feel...what I feel might not be real. If I don’t believe it...who will?”

“I believe you,” Steve insisted, reaching up and wiping away the tears that threatened. “I’m just...God, Tony, I miss you so much. I miss seeing you smile. Holding your hand,” he paused for a moment, listening to the sound of Tony breathing on the other end of the line, just sitting and thinking how desperately he wanted that sound to be true, “Kissing you.”

“We were supposed to have phone sex and you’re crying and I can hear your stupid cat purring,” Tony said. Steve recognized the tone, where Tony was trying to make a joke past his own emotions. He gave a watery laugh and closed his eyes in the darkness of the room, squeezing out tears that managed to sneak past. They slid down his face into his hair.

\---

Steve looked up at the sky as he sat on the roof of the Malibu house, thinking about nothing in particular. The familiar sound of repulsors caught his attention but he didn’t get up, even as the suit landed and walked up behind him, the metal boots making solid sounds against the concrete.

“Hey, sparky,” Tony greeted. He’d left Steve alone for a few hours, but always seemed to know when Steve was tired of being on his own. Even though Tony was always around, in the house, they had both clung to the Iron Man suits as a base, as a familiarity, as a physical anchor to keep them both from drifting away.

Tony had been working for months on the suits, there had been multimillion dollar remodels done in the lab to better equip it for the things that Tony needed. The newest models were smaller- they weren’t fighting anymore, they didn’t need heavy armor plating and without a person inside of them, he could fit in far more components. They were nearly Tony’s exact size now, but they never stopped looking like Iron Man, even without the bulk and the weapons. Even though Steve knew that Tony was developing a polymer to replace skin. Steve wasn’t sure he would be ready for that. Not yet.

“Come on, I ordered dinner,” Tony said. Steve looked up at the suit and took the offered hand, standing but not moving yet.

“Will you sing?” Steve asked instead.

“Jeez, I haven’t sung in ages, sweetheart,” Tony said, though Steve knew it was because he’d always been embarrassed about singing. Didn’t mean he’d never done it for Steve. And Tony could sing really well.

“We can’t dance without a song, Tony,” Steve insisted. He moved the suit’s hand to his hip and laced his fingers through the other, swaying gently until finally Tony seemed to break and the suit moved too.

“Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it's all right,” Tony was singing quietly. Steve always did like the Beatles and this song was soft and sweet. Just what he needed tonight.

\---

Steve brought his hand down between his legs, shifting and grabbing the bar beneath the seat of the car to slide it back, breathing hard with his phone pressed to his ear. His cock strained his jeans and he undid the fly and button, reaching inside to pull his length out. The car was still running, but idling in the driveway, the headlights flooding the side of the house, music still playing through the speakers, though very quietly.

“I can hear you rustling, you must be so wet, you’re like a bitch with how wet your cock gets,” Tony rumbled, his voice low and laced with lust.

“God, yea, Tony, but just for you, always just for you,” Steve breathed. His face was flushed and it was worse once he dragged his thumb through the pre that had soaked a spot into his pants. When he finally pumped his hand down, pulling his foreskin back, he used it to slick the way, “Makes it easier to fuck you.”

“Fuck, yea it does. Would you eat me out first? Get me bent over the console with my ass up. Your tongue in me so I’m loose and ready, you’re so fuckin’ good with your tongue.”

Steve groaned, pushing his head back and closing his eyes as he tried to keep a handle on it. He was going to finish so fast if he didn’t slow down. He wanted to draw it out a little more, just a little longer. His hand stopped, gripping the base tightly.

“I love doing that, the sounds you make-” Steve responded, cutting off with a gasp. Tony moaned into his ear, swearing lowly.

“Don’t slow down, don’t stop, keep going,” Tony demanded.

“I’m so close, we just started,” Steve all but whined. Tony made another sinful noise that had more pre sliding down his cock from the swollen red head.

“So sensitive, always so sensitive, how many times can I make you cum in one night?”

“God, Tony, I don’t know, we only made it to six, are you getting close too?”

“Yea, baby, Steve, I’m right there too, finish for me, let me hear you,” Tony demanded, his voice tight. Steve didn’t need to be told twice before he cried out, it felt louder in the confined space of his car and he looked down to watch the ropes of release that arced over his hand. Tony groaned, choking off a louder sound of pleasure- a sound that Steve knew so well and dreamed about. “You make a mess? Send me a picture.”

“Hold on, let me just…” Steve was panting as he gripped himself, eyes closing again as the initial intensity wore off. He reached up with his left hand and took his phone from where it had been in the crook of his shoulder, fumbling with it before he got the camera pulled up and he took a picture, his cock still red, his cum on his hand, pants, and a little even reached the steering wheel. Normally he was a little shier about this but he was always complacent after he finished- something Tony always took advantage of.

“Oh, Christ, look at all that going to waste. I want to lick you clean,” Tony groaned. Steve gave an embarrassed laugh and grabbed a tissue from the box in the back seat to clean up with.

“I love you, Tony,” Steve murmured.

“Steve, baby, I love you too.”

\---

Steve wanted to scream. The choruses of ‘Captain Rogers’ over and over and over from the reporters each time he stepped out of the Tower made his ears ring. Snippets of their questions filtered through sometimes “late husband” “artificial intelligence” “married to a computer”, Captain Rogers, Captain Rogers, Captain Rogers- Steve hadn’t realized he’d stopped in the middle of the crowd. The security guards were fighting back the mics and cameras shoved at him, the throng closing in, all the air was leaving his lungs and he couldn’t breathe.

A woman’s scream was the only thing that snapped him out of it- he was too strong for the guards to get moving and keep the mob from overwhelming him at the same time. Steve looked up and the crowd scattered barely in time before an Iron Man suit landed heavily on the sidewalk. It cracked the pavement- one of the tall, battle capable suits, not one of the sleek androids Tony wore in the private sector.

The suit opened and Steve stepped into it, the comfort and safety of Tony wrapping around him as it closed and helped him escape. He could do nothing about the tears that slid down his face now that the helmet was on and he was forcing himself not to look at the small video feed of Tony in the corner, but neither of them were willing to talk at the moment.

It had been six months since the announcement that Tony Stark, technological genius, the brightest engineer Earth had ever known, was still alive, living through thousands of computer servers in dozens of locations around the world. It was the biggest life changing decision that they had ever made. It meant that Tony could expand further- he could send suits to every Stark Industries lab around the globe, he could begin research in every science and medical field known to man, as well as some Tony was inventing himself. Steve had hidden away- unwilling to face the public backlash- thinking it would die down if he waited before showing himself.

It didn’t.

Nearly four years after Tony’s death Steve had finally felt he was ready to face the world again, because he had Tony by his side. He had no idea how hard it was going to be. The world wasn’t ready for Tony.

But Tony was always Tony. Fuck the world, he’d said. He was exploding upwards and outwards, like a tsunami from the epicenter of an earthquake, swallowing everything in his path, leaving behind not destruction, but advancement. His technology was improving every passing day, and when he reached a roadblock, say, not having a material strong enough to support what he was doing, or a liquid so hydrophobic it was nearly impossible to contain, Tony blasted past it.

The suits...Steve hadn’t been able to call them that for a while. They’d switched to calling them androids because that’s what they were. Of course there were still suits, like the one that cradled Steve as they flew to who knows where, but in their home and in the office, it was the androids. They were Tony in every way, their movements, their shape and size, but they weren’t human. Steve refused to let Tony go further with them.

I’ll never be ready, Tony.

Steve could barely handle that Tony had been able to create the digital feed of himself. The first time his phone alerted that he had a video call from Tony, he’d only managed to answer and see Tony say, “Hey Spangles,” before he’d ended up breaking his phone and crying so hard he made himself sick. It never got easier, and it frustrated Steve. He’d spent weeks, months, mourning his loss, how could he still have any tears left to shed over Tony? Tony who was alive and with him all the time, who took care of him and comforted him, who loved him more than ever before. Who the sight of made him feel as if his heart was breaking all over again.

Steve didn’t really need to ask how Tony did it. There was so much digital footage of Tony and no doubt Tony had planned for this in those weeks leading up to his body failing that creating a digital image of himself was probably easy. Compared to everything else that Tony had been doing over the last few years it seemed almost silly to think this wouldn’t have been possible. It had probably been possible for a very long time. Tony had known Steve wasn’t ready.

Just like Tony’s skin polymer. It had already been put to use in burn units. He had already begun creating robotic prosthetics that were impossible to differentiate between the real and the fake. Tony was ready to create a real body for himself. For all Steve knew, his husband already was.

\---

“Come on, Steve, how are you married to Tony and never watched The Terminator?” Peter Parker whined. He was one of the new Avengers, a kid, but a good kid with a big heart and one hell of an interesting set of powers. Tony liked him because he was enthusiastic and eager to impress. Even though Captain America had hung his shield up years ago (literally it was over the mantel in the penthouse) and Iron Man only made appearances when the current team absolutely needed his support (and only if Steve gave the okay) the new generation knew when to shut up and listen.

“Because we didn’t want him worried about JARVIS and Skynet,” Tony answered over the intercom. He wasn’t around because Peter and Steve had just gotten back from the showers after a sparring lesson and it was “Cap Time” as Peter called it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t being nosy.

“Oh, but it’s a classic! This movie is almost as old as you are, Cap,” Peter said as the beginning credits started. Tony obviously wasn’t worried about whatever Skynet was, or he wouldn’t have pulled the film up, so Steve sipped his water and settled on the couch to watch.

“Pretty sure that movie came out in the 80s,” Steve said, already having the IMDB up on his tablet. Tony knew he always looked up the movies so he could read the actors names and try to make sure he remembered them.

“Yea, isn’t that when you were, like, around?” Peter asked, leaping over the couch and disappearing around the corner for a moment. He returned with a massive bowl of steaming popcorn.

“Didn’t pay much attention during American history, did you?” Steve asked dryly. He reached up and rubbed his face, setting the tablet down. “Jesus, what year is it?”

“2045, old man, when were you born then?”

“1918,” and Steve had to stifle a laugh when Peter started choking comically on his popcorn. He reached over and offered the boy his water, who took it and had a big gulp.

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Did you really not know that, because I’m beginning to wonder what they are teaching you kids these days,” Steve mumbled. It wasn’t that he felt Captain America needed to be a part of the curriculum but he was pretty adamant about people needing to know about the horrors of war, especially one as terrible as World War Two. Kids like Peter had never known true terror or what it was like to struggle to survive. And as one of the people protecting the world, Steve felt Peter should know what he was protecting them from.

“I mean, I knew you were, like, old, but not. What is that? Like 127? Holy shit,” Peter said, making Steve shift, embarrassed. “You look, I mean, no homo, but you’re hot.”

“Thanks, I guess. But most of that time I was on ice. Sort of like hibernating from 1945 until 2011,” Steve said, not paying attention to the movie that was playing quietly in the background.

“Wow, so how old are you really? Because I was born in 2014, so, what’s that like,” Peter was rapidly doing mental math if the look on his face had anything to go off of. “61. Wow. Why’d you quit the Avengers? You’re awesome. I mean, you kick my ass when we’re training.”

“Didn’t feel right leading a different team,” Steve answered quietly.

“Tony still fights with us sometimes though,” Peter pointed out.

“Only when you need him to, and that’s different, you know that,” he said back, his tone a bit sharper. There was something to be said about the fact Tony could now enter the fight and not worry about his safety. It still made Steve’s whole body tense when one of the Iron Man suits were destroyed, even though he knew Tony was safe.

“Okay, sorry,” Peter said, quieting down.

They watched the first Terminator movie and frankly Steve hadn’t cared for it at all. It made him uncomfortable and he spent most of the film fidgeting and texting Tony about inane things to distract himself from it. He’d never watched a movie with a plot like this- artificial intelligence deciding to destroy humanity though Tony told him it was fairly common and not even creative. Steve wasn’t that interested in science fiction as it was and he agreed that if he’d seen this in the early years, perhaps his acceptance of JARVIS and now Tony, would be different. It made more sense though, the seemingly irrational fear the public had of Tony and the OS systems that were becoming more common. Steve liked understanding at least.

\---

Steve shrugged his coat off and draped it over the back of the couch, listening as Natasha and Bruce chatted behind him and kicked their shoes off by the door. Christmas decorations covered the penthouse, making it look like something out of a magazine or a Macy’s display, but Steve loved it anyway. Tony went through a lot of effort to make everything perfect for their first real Christmas. Steve hadn’t celebrated since Tony’s death, but what was four years in a life that had no discernable end?

“Wow,” Natasha said fondly, pushing her hair behind her ear. Steve looked at her, her aged face, her hair that he knew she dyed now, then at Bruce, who appeared far older than he was, and felt a deep sense of longing. Again he wished he’d aged with them.

“Drinks are on the table,” Tony called from the other room. He’d been out with them seeing the lights around the city in one of the newest androids, dressed in warm clothes so it looked like Tony was just wearing one of the helmets out in public again. Clothing was common now, from business suits at Stark Industries meetings to sweatpants and hoodies around the penthouse. And Tony rarely, if ever, used the intercom system anymore unless he deemed it needed.

The tree, huge and perfect, glittered in the center of the penthouse, gifts wrapped beneath it and a fire burning away in the mantel, the twinkling lights reflecting off the burnished shield that hung over it. Steve picked up a glass of mulled wine, warm in his chilly hands, and stood at the tree. He’d spent a while looking at it and still found ornaments he hadn’t noticed before, and not a single one was exactly the same.

Natasha and Bruce murmured together behind him, glasses ringing together, their heads bowed to keep their conversation private. Steve had known about them for a while now- it only made sense. There was no one else left and if they weren’t there to keep each other together, who would be?

“Wow, Tony, you look fantastic,” Natasha said suddenly, drawing only half of Steve’s attention. Mostly he just thought about who made the ornaments. Was it Tony himself or did he buy them?

“Thanks, doll, you too,” Tony responded, having entered the room. There were androids all over the Tower all the time so it wasn’t surprising that the one who got off the elevator 15 floors down was replaced by another.

“Really, you look great,” Bruce agreed. Steve blinked out of his stupor and turned. His glass shattered on the floor, spilling the wine in a bright red slash across both the rug and the wood panels because it was Tony. Young and handsome as he’d been when they first met, a casual smirk on his face, a wine glass in his left hand. His right hand was on Bruce’s shoulder, Bruce who grinned at Tony like there was nothing wrong in the world. But Steve was frozen, wine was soaking into the carpet and his socks but he couldn’t move his legs or his mouth or do more than blink.

“Steve?” Natasha prompted gently. Steve backed up a step and bumped into the tree, sending a dozen delicate glass ornaments to the floor where they broke with pleasant little tinkling sounds. Panic washed through him and he turned, shoving at the branches of the live tree, smelling pine and cinnamon as more glass met their fates and he fled.

No air was coming no matter how hard he gasped to breathe and his ears rang, drowning out Natasha and Bruce calling him back. The doors to the balcony opened for him and Steve burst out into the freezing night air. His feet stung where he’d stepped on glass and the cold wind buffeted him, making his hands shake as he gripped the railing, which was so cold that it burned his skin.

“Steve,” Tony said from the doorway. Steve was trembling, but he was surprised to realize he wasn’t crying.

“I can’t do it,” Steve whispered.

“You have to,” Tony insisted. A thick blanket draped over Steve’s shoulders and he watched a warm hand rest over his own, a wedding band reflecting the lights from inside. Tony's wedding band.

“I’m not ready,” he said.

“And you never will be if you don’t try. I’m ready, Steve. I’m ready to be alive again. To be a human being. To be real. The androids are close, but they’ll never be me. The suits are a part of me, but not all of me. This is what I want.”

“I...can’t.”

“You’re being very selfish, Steve,” Natasha said seriously. Steve turned, hyper aware of Tony, Tony, beside him, to look at her in the door, able to see Bruce carefully cleaning up the broken glass in the living room behind her. “Look at him.” Steve pulled his lips in and bit at them, firmly gripping the blanket around his shoulders. “Look at him, Steve.”

And so he did. Tony, so incredibly handsome, his facial hair carefully shaped, his large brown eyes expectant, cheeks flushed from the cold, hands twiddling a StarkPhone like they always were. Steve stared for a long time, watching Tony’s face for anything, any indication that Tony wasn’t real, that he was a computer inside of a machine, but there was nothing. Every facial twitch was markedly human, the fine hairs on his arms, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he wet his lips as the wind chapped both of their mouths. Steve stood there so long that Natasha left and he could see Tony was shivering. He was actually shivering. Like a person.

That did it for Steve and he opened his arms, holding the blanket out like a cape, then wrapping them both up in it. Batman hugs, Tony called them, and recalling that made Steve huff out a sound between a sob and a laugh. Tony’s arms went around his waist and he pressed his face into Steve’s neck, his nose cold as ice against his skin, making Steve break out in goosebumps.

“I love you,” Steve whispered.

“I love you too.”

\---

Steve went through the evening as if in a dream. Everything had a hazy quality, like something from a movie and at any moment he would wake up and realize it had never happened. They drank wine and laughed, exchanged gifts, but Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off Tony for long. Always his gaze was drawn back to his husband. It didn’t take more than two hours for Natasha and Bruce to realize that it was time for them to retreat to their floor.

Steve looked into his wine glass, his bare feet pressing to the rug beneath the couch, afraid of the silence that permeated, only broken by the crackling of the fire. Now they were alone and it was Tony, real and warm and setting his still half full glass onto the coffee table.

“Babe,” Tony prompted, resting his hand on the back of Steve’s neck. Steve leaned into it, his eyes closing as he focused on the calloused feel of Tony’s fingers, letting his glass be taken and put aside as well. He was pliant and weak, so weak for Tony, letting his husband pull him over and press their lips together.

“Oh, God,” Steve whimpered. But he was shushed and kissed again. It hurt and at the same time it was the most amazing thing he'd ever felt in the world. Four years without this felt like a lifetime. It was exactly how he remembered but he couldn't seem to get his body and mind to cooperate. All of him wanted this, but mind said it was impossible, it wasn't real, he'd wake up soon and his body longed to drag Tony in close and take advantage of this before it disappeared, dream or no.

The kissing was slow and he ran his hands up Tony's chest, the reactor glowing from beneath a soft grey thermal. Steve's fingers brushed it, calmed by the familiarity of the body close to his. The smell of Tony had long since faded from the penthouse and the place in Malibu, but now it filled Steve and he wanted to drown in it. Tony couldn't seem to keep his hands in one place, moving from cupping Steve’s cheeks to caressing his neck to holding his biceps, then down his ribs, pressing them with his thumbs, then tucked against Steve’s thin waist, hips, brushing across his thighs, then back up, this time stopping at his belt.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” Tony whispered.

“I can’t, not yet,” Steve said back.

Tony shook his head, “Just bed.”

Steve couldn’t stop Tony if he wanted. Tony stood and pulled Steve with him, so strong, was he always so strong? They crossed the living room and the door to the bedroom shut behind them, the lights rising to a comfortable dimness. Tony’s hands were all over Steve again, undoing the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and kissing along Steve’s throat and shoulder.

“Tony, please, I can’t,” Steve begged quietly as he found himself lying in the large bed, miraculously, amazingly, not alone. He’d never wanted the androids in bed with him before, even when Tony asked because it hadn’t been right. Hope was there, but she’d been given free reign of the Tower and had even figured out to use the elevator (though Steve knew it was Tony who directed her to various floors) so she wasn’t following Steve around like a shadow as much anymore. He was okay with that, he didn’t need her as badly as he had when he first got her in Malibu. And now…

“I love you so much, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you,” Tony whispered against Steve’s throat. Steve’s hand was shaking as he lifted it to slide into Tony's hair. Soft. Thick. Real. His other grasped Tony's shoulder and dug in, gripping tightly and shuddering as Tony's tongue delved into the hollow of his throat. His lover was always in a hurry in bed, especially when it had been a while since their last; Steve was being swept away in the familiar sensation he'd missed so much. Tony palmed his erection and it jerked Steve out of it.

"Pease, Tony," Steve begged, shaking all over. Tony wasn't stopping though. He was heat and strength, silencing Steve with searing kisses that sucked out what air remained in Steve's lungs. Steve scrabbled at Tony's shoulders as the man moved down, thighs trembling when he looked down and saw those big brown eyes gazing up at him, nimble fingers that opened his fly swiftly. "No, Tony, I don't..."

"Four years," Tony insisted breathlessly. "Let me make up for them."

"You don't have to make up for anything. Tony, please. I don't want to do this," Steve insisted brokenly, jerking forward when his cock, aching and red, was pulled free. He pushed Tony back and hunched over, panting.

"You're so wet for it though. I can finish you in seconds," Tony whined, but he had moved away when pushed. He sat up on his knees, looking down at Steve, hurt on his face, watching as Steve hurriedly stuffed his erection back into his pants. “Why?”

“There’s…” Steve said, swallowing thickly. “Just. Hold me. Please? That’s what I want. I don’t want to be alone.” He was crying, his words were shaking and he was trembling. Not from fear, he knew Tony would never hurt him, could never hurt him, but from grief. His body didn’t want to believe this was real. He kept expecting to wake up because Tony felt exactly the same, his skin, his muscles, the way he kissed- And of course Tony could do this. Tony could make a body so real that it was making Steve’s memories seem fake.

Tony’s expression softened and Steve choked on a sob when he saw a tear sliding down the man’s cheek. They’d been married 20 years and he’d only seen his husband cry a handful of times. Tony was quick to wipe it away, but Steve had seen it and that was all that mattered.

Things were complicated and terrifying and Tony’s arm went around Steve’s waist as they curled together in bed, but it didn’t matter. This was real.


End file.
